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  "Honey, it is not as hard as it looks once you get the hang of it. And I have been doing it since I was twelve, at least part of it. When it's your income, you do what you have to do. Most of it is preparation, getting as much ready in advance as you can. Like the potato salad—I made it early this morning and put the beans in the back oven to bake. I cheat on the pies, buy them frozen, but no one complains. Lots of stuff can be deep-fried and kept under the warmers.

  "You have no idea how much help you were to me. I cannot thank you enough. Once the roads are open, my after-school helper will be here, and things will be easier. But you were a godsend, thank you very much."

  They pulled the shades, turned off most of the lights, and put the Closed sign in the window. Alma dug a bottle of whiskey from under the counter, filled two glasses with ice, and poured them full. “Now, tell all, and don't leave out anything."

  Ellen gave her a report, leaving out nothing but any references to Mac.

  "Honey, you are sure lucky. Those men down at Mudbugs are less that human, and they would have done what they intended. Probably would have taken you back into the swamp, sold you to their cronies, and tossed whatever was left of you to the gators. Local folks seem to be off limits, but any stranger is considered open season if they can get away with it, and right now they can get away with anything they want. Since there never is a body, and no witnesses, any missing person is just forgotten, and the law, such as it is, can do nothing. And that includes men. They are not choosy when it comes to dipping their wicks. Any hole or slot is good enough for them, and they share if the money is right. God, you were so lucky!

  "And that Del Marks is the worst of the lot. He comes from a long line of swamp scum. The women are old before they are twenty. None of them are married, just there to serve the men. Soon as a girl is old enough to have her monthly, she becomes open game. They even draw names to see who gets the girl first, like that is some prize. But before you go feeling sorry for them, just remember that they are as bad as the men, doing whatever with whoever they want from the time they are old enough to understand what is going on. Little girls are kept pure until they are old enough, but that doesn't stop anyone of either sex from enjoying them other ways, and the girls like it, too."

  Ellen looked sad and disgusted at the same time. She shook her head, as if trying to shake away the images her mind had formed. “Even animals don't act like that."

  Alma patted her hand. “I do have a question though. Do you think Glenda knew those men? I mean, she disappears every day she is here and comes back at nightfall. She has to go somewhere, but no one ever sees her after she leaves. I wonder...."

  Ellen let the question sink in. “I really don't know. She did stay inside a few minutes after I went out, but I could not hear what they said. I find it hard to believe that woman would have anything to do with those cretins. Seeing her in her long dress and apron in that filthy place was a sight in itself. No, I really don't think so. Why do you ask?"

  "I don't know, honey, just something that popped into my head. Now, girl, you wade back across the street and get into that hotel room of yours. And lock the door. I will watch to be sure you get inside fine. Now go!"

  Ellen started to object but found herself being pushed out the door. She hugged Alma, and then bogged across, stopping to yell ‘goodnight’ before entering and going straight to bed. Even after her nap, which was not restful as it was so full of nightmares, she was exhausted. Her last thought was of being a waitress and made her smile. “Lord, what would Atlanta think?"

  She awoke later at the sound of loud voices from a room down the hall. She was certain she heard Mrs. Woodward, and yes, she knew the other voice was Mac. She strained to listen, but the wall muffled the words. She pulled the questionable sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her. Her door creaked as she opened it, but with all the arguing, no one could have heard it. Halfway between her door and the one where Mrs. Woodward was staying was as far as she had to go to hear clearly, hardly noticing the holes in the carpet and dirt crunching under her bare feet.

  "She shouldn't have gone in there in the first place. She asked for it..."

  "Like Hell she did! Alma told me the real story, Glenda. Why are you trying to cover for those bastards? Do you have any idea what they would have done to her if you had not rescued her? What is the matter with you, woman?

  "And don't forget what I said. We are all three leaving tomorrow morning in Jack Harvey's boat. She can take that pickup her friend left and get the hell out of our lives the minute the road is passable. She can stop in Inverness and see the cops, just like I did today. Then we'll be shed of her forever. Grandmother will just have to think of another way to make money besides that damn Bed and Breakfast of hers. Hell, I can support her myself."

  "Mac, you know it's not because of the money as much as the loneliness that she likes having guests.” Their voices had quieted so much Ellen had to move closer to the door to hear them. “All her life, she has been the belle of the ball, and she needs strangers around her so that she can continue her role, even if she in the only player who understands the script. So leave her be, as long as she can do it."

  "Whatever, just be ready at eight. Going against the current will take a lot longer than the trip here."

  "Mac, I already told you, I can't leave tomorrow. I have a few things yet to do."

  His voice exploded in anger. “Damn it, Glenda, there is nothing in this godforsaken place for anyone to do, let alone you. What is it that is so damn important?"

  When she did not reply, he continued. “Eight at the café and not a minute later."

  The door flew open, and he ran right into Ellen, who was still eavesdropping, knocking her to the floor. She was tangled in the sheet that dropped when she tried to stand. He let her struggle to her feet, not offering a hand. She finally stood and grabbed the sheet to pull around her.

  "Well, what have we here? A naked eavesdropper? Or are you naked on my account? Do you think that is going to get you back into my good graces? Forget it! You heard our conversation, apparently, so be at the café at eight.” He pushed past her and disappeared down the hall.

  Mrs. Woodward stood in the doorway. “Looks to me like you don't know enough to mind your own business. This is the second time you have been where you don't belong. Mac is too intelligent not to see though your ploy to seduce him. Now get out of here and pray for forgiveness. He is right, the sooner we get shed of you, the better.” She slammed the door.

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  Chapter 28

  Ellen waited in a dark corner of the hotel until she saw the lights go on at the café across the street. She had hardly slept at all. Feelings of anger, shame, and an entire palette of emotions ran endlessly through her mind. She was not looking forward to the trip back, but she had to agree with them ... she wanted to be shed of them, too.

  Alma was in the kitchen and looked startled when Ellen appeared. “You gave me a scare. Wasn't expecting anyone at six AM. What are you doing up so early? And if you don't mind my saying so, you look awful."

  Ellen laughed. “I'd hope I look better than I feel. Anyway, apparently Mr. Atwater paid you a visit last night. His charming Aunt Glenda conveyed to him that I went in that awful place myself and apparently encouraged those men. Thank you for straightening him out."

  "My pleasure. I always enjoy talking and looking at him. He is gorgeous, but I am sure you have noticed.” She was teasing, and they both knew it. “He sure did get pissed off when I told him what had actually happened. I'm not sure who he was the most angry with, his aunt or those creeps. It was all I could do to keep him from going down there right then, and God knows what would have happened then.

  "He did go yesterday on a borrowed horse to Inverness to report your three friends missing and said you would have to go there too and fill out some more paperwork. Maybe by the time you get there, the phones will be working again. When you phone their parents, let us pray that they are all three
at home, worried instead about you."

  "That is my most fervent hope, but to tell the truth, Alma, I don't think that is going to happen. I think way down deep that they are dead, somewhere in this dismal place. Have you ever been to Black Bayou Plantation? If you have, you will understand my feelings. It is the strangest place I have ever been, and they are the strangest people. You are a dear and I will miss you, but all I want to do now is go home."

  "I understand, Ellen, but I want us to stay in touch. Now, come on back to the kitchen with me while I start some muffins and stir up some hotcake batter. The early birds are usually here by seven for their morning coffee and conversation."

  The time passed quickly. Alma looked at the clock and said, “Now sit down. I am going to fix some breakfast for the three of you and have some sandwiches and stuff for you to take with you. The boat he borrowed is a good one, and you won't have to bail, I promise."

  The door opened, and Mac and Mrs. Woodward came in. Ellen sat at the counter, avoiding them as they took a table. Within five minutes, Alma appeared with platter-sized plates full of wonderful smelling bacon, ham, and eggs. “Anyone want grits?” She already had two bowls for the Southerners but brought hash browns for Ellen. Ellen thought maybe Atlanta was not south enough for Alma.

  Alma sat with her while she ate, making small talk. It ended abruptly when Mac pushed back his chair, tossed several bills on the counter, gave Alma a quick hug, and opened the door. “Come on, let's go. Want to be home before those afternoon thunderstorms hit.” Without waiting, he strode off to the pier jutting out into the river. It was a small boat, just big enough for the three of them, but drafted so little water that it was as low to the water as the canoe had been. He helped Mrs. Woodward in but let Ellen fend for herself. As the boat jostled under her weight, he yelled, “For Christ's sake, sit down before you capsize us all."

  There was little conversation between Mac and his aunt as he started the small outboard motor on the little boat. Ellen neither spoke nor was spoken to. She could see that the water had fallen since her trip two days before but paid little mind to the scenery. Once she would have loved the hanging moss, the rich black soil, the hostile beauty of the swamp, but now all she wanted was the hubbub of Atlanta. She was dozing lightly when something bright caught her eye under a partially submerged log.

  Without thinking, she yelled. “Mac, over there. What is that? Looks like clothes.” He did not reply but maneuvered the boat closer and used an oar to lift the fabric out of the water. “Oh, God. Marybeth had that blouse on when she disappeared. Oh, dear God.” Tears filled her eyes, but she said not another word.

  Mac grabbed a low limb and pulled himself out of the boat onto the log. She could see his mouth moving but not hear his words. He knelt, then stood, shaking his head. She started to rise, wanting to see what he was seeing, but he stepped back in the boat. “Sit down, Ellen, I will explain it all to you when we get back to Cotton. Change of plans, I'm afraid."

  "What was it, Mac? Tell me. Tell me now!"

  "I will tell you when we are back on dry land and not before, so damn it, stop asking."

  The trip back seemed an eternity long, but was actually much quicker because the current was with them. When he tied the boat to the pier, he helped his aunt first and then reached for Ellen's hand, holding it so tight she could not retrieve it.

  "Ellen, honey, I have to go to Inverness right now, to report a murder."

  "Murder. Murder? That was Marybeth's blouse ... Marybeth. Oh, God, was that her body? Was she murdered?"

  He pulled her close, holding her tight as grief flooded her entire being. Her sobs wrenched her entire body. He had never heard such pain in silent tears as she made not a sound. He kissed the top of her head and held her face into his shoulder. Slowly, he moved her down the pier and across to the hotel.

  Glenda had the sense to go to the café’ to give the news to Alma, then disappeared down the boardwalk. No one noticed her disappear into the brush on the outskirts of town.

  Like wildfire, the news spread as those in the café had overheard Glenda. Alma said, “I am going to trust you all to pay what you owe me. Last one out, lock the door.” She rushed around the kitchen, turning off everything before running out and across the street.

  Mrs. Clarke pointed up the stairs and mouthed, “Number 11."

  The door was open as she exited the stairs, and inside she could see Mac holding Ellen in his arms, comforting her as he would a child. He nodded for her to come in and indicated for her to sit on the other side of Ellen. “Ellen, darling, listen to me. Alma is here. She will stay with you for a while until you sleep. I have to report this to the police, and then I will be right back. Did you hear me?” She nodded slightly. The tears had stopped, but her face and mind seemed to be blank.

  He pressed her into Alma's arms and kissed her gently on the cheek. “See if you can get her to lie down. I'll see if Mrs. Clarke has anything to make her sleep.” Alma continued to hold her until the hotelkeeper trod her heavy body up the stairs, bringing a glass of water and a bottle of pills. Alma read the label, Valium, and knew it would do the trick. Ellen took the drug and lay down. Alma covered her and sat with her until she slept before going back across the street.

  As she left the hotel, she was surprised to hear Mrs. Clarke say, “I will look in on her every hour or so,” knowing what a chore it was for the heavy woman with legs the size of a small elephant to climb the stairs.

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  Chapter 29

  By the time Mac had ridden the borrowed horse back to Cotton, the little town was crawling with state police. Their airboats made the trip through the bayou easily and quickly. They found the remains of Marybeth Dawson in the exact location Mac had described. “Remains” was the key word, with little left of her body. Water creatures had taken their toll, but the signs of torture still visible sickened even the hardened officers.

  "Four recent college graduates from New Orleans came to Inverness Country for some R & R before returning to their homes and new lives and careers. The hurricane isolated them at the Black Bayou Plantation Bed and Breakfast in the southern part of the swamp. One by one, they began to disappear, leaving their companions and the Atwater family who owns the plantation stranded and unable to report their disappearances to officials. The first was found on Monday.

  "Dogs were brought in, along with dozens of searchers, hoping for a clue, but time and weather worked against them. They scattered across the terrain searching every old shack, shanty, and dilapidated building in a ten-mile radius but found nothing. The people to whom they spoke were of little help, but that wasn't unusual in this country.

  "On the fourth day of searching, miles from where Marybeth Dawson was found, a pair of young boys fishing came across what was left of Windsong Clayton, so the search shifted to that area next. No sign of Eartha Black has been found. The only remaining member of the original foursome is Ellen Scarlett O'Hara Davis, who is under sedation and will return to her family in Atlanta as soon as she is well enough.

  "The families of the two deceased women cannot be reached for comment. Officials are withholding all information as they always do during an ongoing investigation. All this reporter was able to learn was that both women had been tortured before their deaths. Their remains were dumped into the waters still bloated by the hurricane that came through, helping to erase any further clues officials might have found. Further developments as they come in." So reported the Inverness Chronicle in its weekly edition.

  * * * *

  Mac climbed the stairs, surprised to find Mrs. Clarke sitting on the edge of Ellen's bed. She looked embarrassed to be found there, but he patted her cheek and whispered his thanks. She scuttled down the stairs like a land-locked walrus as he closed the door. Taking off only his boots, he lay down beside the sleeping woman. He looked at her face and felt protectiveness and tenderness he had never experienced before. Soon, he too slept.

  When he awoke, she was looki
ng at him without expression. Her eyes did not seem to see him, not actually, even though they looked directly at him. It took him several seconds to register that she was probably in shock. The police had planned to talk to her as soon as she awoke, but he doubted she could respond.

  "Honey, Ellen, do you hear me? Can you talk to me? Do you see me?"

  She did not answer. The only part of her that moved was her eyelids, which did their job automatically. Otherwise, she was in some kind of catatonic state. He went flying down the stairs and outside, looking for a police officer, anyone he could find. One was just coming out of Effie's Café. He yelled for the man to follow him, which he did.

  His badge said Officer Moffett. He looked at the pretty girl on the bed and understood immediately what had happened. He used his radio to call Inverness, asking for an emergency vehicle to come for her. Within a short time, but what seemed like hours to Mac, there came the sound of a helicopter chopping the air. There was no landing spot in town but a large clearing a hundred yards or so away. The old dirt road was still muddy, but good enough for old man Herbert and his equally old 1957 pickup to get to the helicopter to retrieve the emergency crew and their equipment.

  Within minutes, they had strapped Ellen to a folding gurney, hooked up IVs, and were back in the helicopter, once again courtesy of old man Herbert. They refused to allow Mac to go with them but told him she would be at Inverness General, leaving him to watch helplessly as the machine rose and turned above his head.

  Mac returned to the hotel and found Glenda was not in her room. Mrs. Clarke said she had left without a word half an hour ago. No one else had seen her since. Well, she wanted to stay, so she is damn well going to stay, he thought as he once again rode to Inverness on the borrowed horse. In a passing thought, he wondered why she had not stopped in Ellen's room nor shown any interest in the helicopter.

  The crew was all in their places, ready for the short ride back, when the pilot called back to them, “Damnest thing. Look down below. There is a woman in a long dress rushing down along the river. Hope she knows what she is doing, ‘cause I see several gators not far ahead of her. Think I will drop down and ‘bull-horn’ her a warning.” He did so, but she did not even acknowledge their presence. He shrugged and flew away. “Some folks just plain don't want help."